remain entirely despicable in her society. So, as you see, there was
more to her than her education.

II

When I was well grown, at last, I was sold and taken away, and I never
saw her again. She was broken-hearted, and so was I, and we cried; but
she comforted me as well as she could, and said we were sent into this
world for a wise and good purpose, and must do our duties without
repining, take our life as we might find it, live it for the best good
of others, and never mind about the results; they were not our affair.
She said men who did like this would have a noble and beautiful reward
by-and-by in another world, and although we animals would not go
there, to do well and right without reward would give to our brief
lives a worthiness and dignity which in itself would be a reward. She
had gathered these things from time to time when she had gone to the
Sunday-school with the children, and had laid them up in her memory
more carefully than she had done with those other words and phrases;
and she had studied them deeply, for her good and ours. One may see
by this that she had a wise and thoughtful head, for all there was so
much lightness and vanity in it.

So we said our farewells, and looked our last upon each other through
our tears; and the last thing she said--keeping it for the last to
make me remember it the better, I think--was, "In memory of me, when
there is a time of danger to another do not think of yourself, think
of your mother, and do as she would do."

Do you think I could forget that? No.

III

It was such a charming home!--my new one; a fine great house, with
pictures, and delicate decorations, and rich furniture, and no gloom
anywhere, but all the wilderness of dainty colors lit up with
flooding sunshine; and the spacious grounds around it, and the great
garden--oh, greensward, and noble trees, and flowers, no end! And I
was the same as a member of the family; and they loved me, and petted
me, and did not give me a new name, but called me by my old one that
was dear to me because my mother had given it me--Aileen Mavourneen.
She got it out of a song; and the Grays knew that song, and said it
was a beautiful name.

Mrs. Gray was thirty, and so sweet and so lovely, you cannot imagine
it; and Sadie was ten, and just like her mother, just a darling
slender little copy of her, with auburn tails down her back, and short
frocks; and the baby was a year old, and plump and dimpled, and fond
of